I am in a similar situation, albeit younger than the OP. My appetite for life and my optimism for the future are all about spent. I'm currently waiting on my "bus ticket~" to arrive, so I still have some time. I won't lie, there is a bit of discomfort and anxiety that comes with thinking about my death, but I think that can be boiled down to our hardwired self-preservation instinct and the inevitable anguish it will cause my family. When I take the time to reflect on whether or not there is a small part of me that still has hope, I am met with silence lol. Even if my condition were to be cured tomorrow, I don't think that the life I could salvage would be all that much of a prize.
It's a terrible thing for me to say, because there are so many people who are dying when they really want to live, but the milestones of the life script that I once longed to follow don't really mean anything to me anymore. Things like career, marriage, and family, those feel like abstract concepts that only other people can grasp. That is not to say that life isn't beautiful - it certainly can be I think - but there is a certain kind of pain that comes from not being able to create beautiful things yourself. That is not to say that I wasn't happy either. I love the people I have in my life dearly and will always be grateful for the experiences that I had.
It is just that I now sort of exist as a ghost...which is a fitting description because I have always felt that the suicidal ultimately kills himself twice. I just need to kill myself one more time.